NICK DAVIDSON Was Lonely.
Not just alone. He was used to that. Heâd been alone for years, since heâd conceded defeat over his disastrous marriage.
Now, for the first time, he was lonely â lonely, and suffering from a severely deflated ego.
Heâd always told himself that if heâd wanted to, if heâd really made the effort, he could get Jennifer back.
âWell, you were wrong, old buddy,â he muttered.
He glanced round without interest.
It was a typical room in a typical hospital residence â clean, the décor uninspired and marred by little patches on the wall where Sellotape had stripped tiny sections of the shiny paint. This paint was a nondescript cream, not dissimilar to the room at the Audley where he had spent the past two months trying to woo Jennifer back.
He snorted softly.
Fat chance he had stood. She had got married again on Christmas Eve, to a man for whom Nick had the utmost â if grudging â respect. And Tim, Nickâs son, would live with them.
That hurt. The rest â watching her standing beside Andrew as they made their vows, seeing the love in her eyes for another man â none of that had hurt him, although he had thought it would. No, only Tim.
Nick blinked hard and focused his eyes on the that would be his home now for the next few months, until either the post was made permanent or he moved on. His flat was too far away to be of use in this job, and so he had given up his lease, ready anyway for a change of scenery. Perhaps heâd buy a little house if he settled here.
For now, though, it was home, if that wasnât too evocative a word for the barren little cell he was standing in. Barren and hot. They were all either too hot or too cold. This one was scorching, and Nick threw open the window.
It was New Yearâs Eve, and bitterly cold, but it hardly seemed to penetrate the emptiness inside him.
The residence, the teaching block and the old wing of the hospital formed four sides of a square, and in the centre a group of early revellers were singing and dancing round the frozen fountain.
At this rate, he thought sourly, theyâll be out for the count by eleven oâclock and miss all the jollity.
He shut the window again to drown out the noise of their singing and threw himself down on the bed.
The springs growled in protest.
Nick gave a wry snort. That was all he needed â a bed that would keep him awake all night!
There were voices in the corridor now, people laughing, someone yelling something about a party.
But no one was about to invite him, because there was no one who knew him yet. Anyway, he didnât feel much like celebrating.
Instead, intending to find the orthopaedic wards and make himself known, he tugged on a jumper, slipped his wallet into the back pocket of his trousers and stepped out into the corridor.
Something soft and delicately scented hit him square in the chest, and his hands flew up automatically.
The girl was slim, her shoulders fragile under his hands, her sparkling green-gold eyes framed by a soft mass of gleaming golden curls. She straightened and laughed up at him. âSorry!â she apologised, and Nick smiled slightly.
âMy pleasure.â
âOh!â A soft flush coloured her cheeks, and her smile faltered. Then it reappeared, and she continued, slightly breathlessly, âIâm Cassie â Cassie Blake. Youâre new, arenât you? I saw you moving in earlier.â
He nodded. âIâm the orthopaedic SR. Nameâs Nick Davidson.â
Her smile dimpled her cheeks. âWell, hi. Iâm a theatre sister up there â I expect weâll be seeing a lot of you. Ciao for now!â She moved away with a little waggle of her fingers in farewell, then turned back. âJust a thought â are you doing anything tonight?â
He shook his head. âNo, nothing. Thought Iâd go and introduce myself on the wards.â
She pulled a face. âThereâs hardly anyone to meet up there. Come to the party â most of them will be there. Iâm on duty so Iâll probably be in and out, but I can introduce you round, if you like?â
Suddenly, wandering round the hospital on his own didnât appeal any more. Nick grinned. âDone â give me two ticks to change.â
She ran her eyes over his jeans and cotton sweater, and shook her head, setting the pale gold hair dancing again. Her smile was warm and welcoming, and he felt the loneliness recede a little. âYouâre fine. Come as you are.â
And so he found himself in the bar, shaking hands, forgetting names almost before they were spoken, smiling and laughing and telling jokes, yelling above the increasing din, until at a quarter to twelve Cassie found him again, her face worried.
âHave you seen Trevor Armitage?â she yelled.
He frowned. âRings a bell. I donât know â what does he look like?â
She grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the noisy bar into the corridor.